And Deliver Us From Evil Amen
by Captain Angel Kirk
Summary: A plague of locusts descends upon Milwaukee, unleashed from Wisconsin State Prison...their only desire, to destroy...unless the gang has anything to do with it! Chapter 6 popped in!
1. 1Things are gettin' loopy 2Something's S...

Deliver Us From Evil  
  
by  
  
Angel Kirk  
  
Chapter 1  
  
  
  
Milwaukee, Wisconsin, 1957.  
  
Torrential hail was plaguing the entire city. An evening, unfortunately, which no one made a move out of their houses. Unfortunately, Richie Cunningham, Warren Weber, Arthur Fonzarelli, Ralph Malph, Joanie Cunningham and Chachi Arcola were no exceptions. Arnold's, the teens' hangout wouldn't be available tonight...  
  
According to the news report, hail was as huge as the average creek skimming stone, "the worst hailstorm Milwaukee had ever seen since April 1938." Hail dented any cars, shattered any trees, bruised any left out dairy cows or other livestock, and if Arthur Fonzarelli, or who his friends called "Fonzie" didn't lock his Harley-Davidson up tighter than a drum, it would almost literally be mere mincemeat by sunrise. Richie sat in his room upstairs in his innocent, naturally edelweiss Milwaukee home, and listened to it...it sounded as if the whole rest of planet earth was applauding him and Milwaukee, it seemed so strange. Phone lines were, unfortunately, down for the moment, as the wooden phone lines of old, too, were mercilessly prayed upon. Richie gazed outside his window. His rightfully pure-hearted eyes were wide as his jaw hung open, stunned to see God hurling small golf balls at earth. A moment to laugh at the thought...he imagined this Charleton Heston-like fellow in scarlet and gold and jewels galore, going into some god-awful conniption fit, tossing bucket after bucket of golf balls right for his hometown.  
  
A mighty bolt flashed and made the city, for a split second, look like afternoon, its form was almost as lithesome and majestic as Grace Kelly in a white satin dress.  
  
God had taken an acre of oxygen and ripped it in two.  
  
Whoa, Richie thought, spring housecleaning in the world above!  
  
But little did he or any Milwaukeean realize...that the housecleaning...had only begun to begin.  
  
  
  
Chapter 2  
  
Milwaukee was ravaged.  
  
Firm buildings were tattered like the frayed end of a broken branch the morning after. Telephone lines were temporarily down (much to the dismay of many teen girls in town, including a lamenting Joanie) , Power lines were down, very few TV antennas had survived. Milk was still being delivered, thank goodness, and the town was certainly bustling for such supplies as food, water, diapers, and whatever they could stock up on.  
  
As for Arnold's, it was built on quite a stronger foundation and it was lucky to have power, but nevertheless it itself had taken quite a lot of battle scars. While many of their respective family members were stockpiling at the market, Richie and friends were chitchatting inside the wounded Arnold's. "Holy Toledo, did you see all that happened last night?" "Yeah!", Warren (a.k.a. Potsie) Weber laughed. "It was cool!" The teens were in high spirits about the incident, unlike the adults they lived with.it was one of the most interesting things that ever happened to them in their town since they were kids. "Did you see that stuff going on?" laughed Ralph. "Man, it was rainin' golf balls!" "I liked it when the lightning flashed. It looked like daytime!" Potsie exclaimed.  
  
Though the teens were enjoying their conversation, Richie was considerably uneasy. "I dunno, guys, I mean really.this just isn't hailstorm weather we're having, I mean, it's just so unusual to have a hailstorm this time of year." "What are you complaining about, Rich?" asked Potsie. "It's the most exciting thing that's ever happened to this town. Buildings practically leveled to the ground, power lines down, trees beaten to a pulp, hide the cattle, hide Fonzie's Harley, everybody's freakin' out Nothing exciting happens around here anymore unless one of us goes on a panty raid." "I don't know guys. I just feel something strange is about to go on.something just isn't right." Fonzie entered Arnold's carrying his Harley-- whom he'd named Her Majesty of Portugal-- which was salvaged just in time, only taking a sky bullet to its front light, carried like a soldier on his arm. He was not amused. "Would somebody please tell me why it was raining freakin' golf balls last night?" he asked.  
  
Top of Form 1 [pic] [pic] Bottom of Form 1 


	2. In The Midst Of Evil

Chapter 3  
  
Somewhere in the Wisconsin State Prison...deep in the belly of a tiny microsector of the one true Hell itself, materialized in the carnal world called Earth, 66 men and 4 women were ruminating....ruminating...about how they were never children...how, if they did so much as smile at the age of three, let alone giggle...they were immediately flogged with a rattan cane simply for doing so, then beaten further for not putting salt and pepper and butter on the table after being ordered to set it after such a giggle...how they were forbidden to watch anything like Disney's Dumbo or Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, nor read any books with such a label, or play with such toys with their fathers' physical presence in the house as a child, simply because of the pure whimsy, the element, the vibe it emanated...  
  
The vibe of purity, joy and innocence...if any other spouses resisted them, it was a perpetual slew of verbal and emotional abuse, with no limit to its evil power. So went it if they, the ruminators, resisted. So went the variations on these ruminations...excessive verbal and emotional abuse on the women, who, at age three, were once Karen Pendleton from the Mickey Mouse club, until one day, on the spur of the moment, father walked through the hall where they were playing underneath a cardboard box fort...and knocked it over in furious anger and bitter hatred--most genuine indeed and colder than the heart of Antartica--simply because the child was having fun, in a place of spiritual paradise, unlike he, who was in a spiritual hell...  
  
Therefore telling the child inevitably, such spiritual and emotional happiness is forbidden here, *dearest*.  
  
The passive participance from the mother would, tragically, be a natural inevitability, shortly afterwards, when the child made the inevitable mistake of telling her when she came home...taught to submit, taught to tolerate, taught to take it with a smile....inevitably passive participance in whatever verbal, emotional, spiritual or physical abuse was exacted upon her by the significant other.  
  
Thus gone was the child despite the chronology of her age, the Karen Pendleton elements of her simply rendered nonexistent in both the parent's sick minds....gone was her childhood, despite the chronology, automatically, adulthood came. The lifestyle of the average child gone in one instant. The purity, the blissful naiivete, the innocence, the wonder of "just learning"....  
  
The men, of course, shared the infinite feeling that agony, anguish, and misery were not big enough words for. Though not quite as effeminate, their lives suffered all these afflictions, and the variations did not know the definition of limit. They, too, were no longer children...beatings, cuts bruises, slashes, all at random....not only physical, but emotional, spiritual, in heart and mind....relentless...endless nights in the early years of one...parent...yelling....endless days....trips that were never vacations, just constant verbal and emotional abuse from father to mother about not peeing in the toilet properly at the rest stop, when the woman didn't even spill a drop of urine on the seat. All suspects shared, by sheer coincidence indeed...one common affliction....passive participance...the mother telling them to tolerate the abuse, take it with a smile, taught to be submissive to it, most especially the girls...passive participance in the abuse exacted upon them.  
  
Thus beginneth the inevitable domino effects when every child ventured out into the real world...the concept of the opposite sex treating them cruel and meaning it as a sign of romantic attraction at elementary school age, tragically and tearfully, mistaken for genuine cruelty...the practical joker of the class mistaken for a black-hearted brute...thus the child abused mistaken for a wicked bvlack heart, tragically indeed, his or herself...thus beginneth the end of friendships nonexistent n the first place...the belief of the victim that he or she is mentally ill when infatuated with someone such as Frank Sinatra, or technically Frankie Avalon in this era. All the emotions and hormones involved in metamorphisis...the domino effects that are the price to pay for the victim when put up against junior high or high school society. No preparation for opposite sex romance or the pain and anguish of it all, nor the wierd new aspects, nor the responsibilities...no preparation for the inevitable snobby girl's cold-blooded battle tactics...or the jock's dead forward attacks....  
  
Thus beginneth the nightamres, flashbacks, and lack of ability to develop healthy adult romantic relationships or friendships. All the while, the mother blames the child, much to his or her bewilderment, for the afflictions put on her by the abusive parent. Thus beginnetyh the bone- chilling, yet inevitable effects of that as well, which could, and by nature, does have the ability, to destroy withoput a trace, a child's spirit, heart and soul...  
  
In their elementary school and preadolescent to adolescent years, they had desperatley turned to others for help, from teachers to ministers. But who would believe them, as the abusers involved were, outside the four walls of their homes, pre school teachers, simple milkmen, toy shop workers, "well-respected" ministers, "well-respected" ministers' wives, rabbis, wives of rabbis...prominent businessmen..."well-revered" female "community leaders"...?  
  
  
  
Thus beginneth the inevitable....the child finding it much too easy to follow in the parent's footsteps....but that is where it stops by nature, for it is common knowledge that it is no excuse to act like the parents in any way, even when the child is suffering or in the midst of yang incomprhensible. There is, by nature, no excuse to verbally, emotionally, or physically abuse in revenge, let alone exact it on anyone else for any reason, yin or yang. It is common knowledge indeed that just because life sucks, doesn't mean the person enduring it has to, period.  
  
This is where the story ends for the occupants of this part of hell...these people simply chose to...in the end...suck. It is truly logical for any human being to know that the sky, in deepest blackness, has stars. And the stars shine bright indeed, illuminating the blackness. Sometimes the blackness, by nature, gets deep beyond human comprehension indeed, nevertheless, the stars shine and end up doing so brighter as a result. But these 66 men and four women...they simply chose to fade out.  
  
The head beast turned to his male wing...there were his 66 cohorts...scattered in their own beastly quarters, which smelled as they themselves did...smelled and looked like the purest element of Death...materialized as many objects. He began to tap to his friends, whom he knew heard him in their coincidentally adjoining cells, in morse code. The message was all too clear...  
  
Each man was thinking Milwaukee, lively and giggling and celebrating each day as they once were doing in all three ways before their very first violation of soul, spirit and mind for doing such things, a violation by, alas, the four hands of evil...the infinite cardboard forts lying below, treasures, riches, plunder...women and vulnerable, pure-hearted men beyond number...  
  
M-I-L-W-A-U-K-E-E  
  
D-E-A-T-H  
  
I-N-H-A-B-I-T-A-N-T-S  
  
D-E-A-T-H  
  
B-R-A-T-S  
  
D-E-A-T-H  
  
A-N-I-M-A-L-S S-A-N-S C-A-T-S  
  
D-E-A-T-H  
  
A-B-S-O-L-U-T-E  
  
D-E-A-T-H  
  
T-R-A-C-L-E-S-S  
  
D-E-A-T-H  
  
T-O-M-O-R-R-O-W  
  
S-I-X  
  
D-E-A-T-H  
  
They all understood the language, the language of the beast, alas the only language they understood. 


	3. HD Ch4

Chapter 4-- The Locusts Descend  
  
The next day was just like any other in Milwaukee. It was surprisingly sunny and seemingly peaceful  
in the midst of everyone and everything singing the symphony of repair and clean-up...even Arnold's chipped in after  
the hailstorm, with food and water and milk donations galore. Diapers, Baby needs, clothes, bread,  
milk, spare oil lamps until complete electricity was restored, and not a single person in Milwaukee wasn't participating,  
And that included Fonzie, Chachi, Richie, Potsie, Joanie, Ralph, and Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham.  
  
Suddenly, near the gang's part of town, beyond the suburban row of homes, beyond the oak trees,  
beyond the hills, the gang heard an ominous, horrid buzz, the buzz of motorcycles, a buzz Fonzie seemed  
to know all too well. But where were these motorcycles coming from? They couldn't be coming from over...the...hills?  
Mrs. Cunningham managed to get the TV working an hour ago thanks to Fonzie. While he was working on her  
garage door, he stopped to peek in and hear the news...he couldn't get much of it, but he knew the most...  
"Many convicts had cooked up a plan and tragically, the prison guards were stifled with cellophane from the prison cafteria,  
henceforth the male and female prisoners did escape in a baffling and most mysterious escape plot not yet known to authorities.  
These convicts' crimes range from child abuse to dismemberment to assault with a deadly weapon, mostly cutlery, such as knives,  
swords and other such things, to decapitation. Coincidentally the owner of a Harley Davidson store on the outskirts of Milwaukee was earlier ago this morning found stifled   
in his store and virtually every one of his motorcycles stolen...the authorities have reason to believe the thieves are not teenage  
motorcycle hoods, but these convicts, whom they dub, "The Black-Hearted Crew". These convicts kill on sight and the name fits them, tragically all too well.  
They are subject to violent mood swings and, like dynamite that is wet and old, explode at the slightest touch. They are armed and dangerous  
and specialize in murder, dismemberment and torture."  
  
Fonzie's jaw hit the floor.  
  
He fled into the midst of the gang's own section of the vast symphony of restoration and said, suddenly snatching  
the part of conductor from circumstance's hands, "Everyone! Catholic Church! Move!" His plan was to round the gang up into a safe place where, though he wasn't particularly a believer in God,   
hoped that some Godly force would keep them all safe from such godawful lunacy. Though the gang looked puzzled, they knew better than not to trust the Fonz.  
"Potsie! Round up the Mr. and the Mrs.! Let's moooove it out!" And as they did, like swarms of locusts did the evil descend from the hills.  
The gang instictively hurried on foot, but unfortunately, did not get very far. The gang's destruction ranged from smashing windows to destroying and blowing up buildings,  
to bullying even the motorcycle greasers to beating up anything under 17, including, shockingly indeed, the younger set, from 2-13  
years old, with fists, clubs, bats and even a switchblade. The symphony had turned into a maelstrom of hell at its hottest, as looting and pilfering  
and plundering, tragically, prevailed.   
  
Fonzie was busy hurrying everyone to safety, when he suddenly slipped in a mudpuddle. A nearby convict all too quickly snapped a stolen bullwhip around his foot  
as he was staggering to get up, then suddenly flipped him over on his back. "Whoa!" He called out as the black motorcycle,  
with initials labeled CBA on the side, sped off with him behind.  
  
He shrugged, a little shaken but not too perturbed. "Well, that's the end of *this* leather jacket!" He groaned.  
  
Ralph was hoping to slip in to the grocery store through a smashed open window. "Ooh, ooh, ooh!" He cried out. "Ohhhhhh, shit!" He yelled  
the minute he leaped inside, hoping to find cover. What he found, unfortuantely, was another convict, who hurled him out another window  
as he had no choice but to scamper along off to catch up with the other gang, before being shot. Another some 30 motorcycles, with cables, yanked half of officer Kirk's  
house to bits as he was in the midst of taking his bath. All that was left was his bathtub, him and naked plumbing. "Gosh darn danged nab it! What in blue blazes..."  
Two bullies were in the midst of beating up poor Potsie...."Oooh! Oooh! Ow! Oh, the inhumanity of it all! Ooh! Ooh! Ow!"   
  
The Sheriff was blown up in his own home. 


	4. Chapter 5 The SUn SHines Even in Darknes...

Chapter 5--  
  
Somewhere in the Northern Milwaukee Presbyterian Church the entire town, including the kids and Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham   
were singing...  
  
"Kyrie Eleison...Eleison..."  
  
Pastor Binkley came into the pulpit, then motioned to Fonzie with a nod of his head. Fonzie stood up in the front row before everybody...  
"Sit!" he snappped. Everybody's butt hit the seat with one *boomp*. Fozie sat with them. The kindly, puppy dog-eyed old fellow began. "Now, I don't need to tell you all all of the abominations that have been going on and lurking about  
and running amok here in Milwaukee lately. Looting, pilfering, plunder, murder, children murdered, assualted, attacked, women brutalized,  
greasers stampeded and dairy cattle raped. And I don't know about the rest of you nor the Lord, but I've only one thing to say...", he lamented in his honey-toned, smooth-as-cappuccino voice....  
  
The crowd waited in anticipation.  
  
He snatched his Bible. His voice leaped into disappointing, cold-shower frankness. "Bon Voyage. I'm moving to Waikiki.".  
  
Fonzie suddenly leaped up and smothly slipped in front of him, below his podium, shocked and aggravated.  
  
"Now just a ding-dong, choco-dile minute here, you pious, candy-ass Twinkie!"  
  
He turned to the audience and once again swept up the crowd in a whirlwind of exhilarating hope and excitement.   
  
"Now, ain't nobody not nohow gonna leave this here city! Because the *Fonz* says so. I was born in Milwaukee, I was raised in Milwaukee,  
and damn it all, I'm gonna die in Milwaukee. And ain't no freaky-deaky, anal, wet n' old dynamite, looney two-shoes, older-than-Jesus fart whirlwind  
and the simperin', whimperin' peppermint twists ridin' shotgun gonna whiz me away with one blow!"  
  
Mr. Cunnigham, after Fonzie sat down casually slupming like a black panther resting in a Serengeti treetop, stood up to say some stuff of his own...  
  
"Now who can argue with that? I'm proud that these lovely children were here to hear that speech. We forged this place with our own bare hamds. As did our forefathers before us, and their forefathers before them!"  
  
"Amen!" the crowd cheered, with Fonzie chiming in, "Aaay!"  
  
"We've withstood through centuries, dad gum it, even the fifties themselves,   
the worst of darkness incomprhensible to humankind. We've withstood everything from tornadoes   
to sleet, to fire and brimstone coming from the skies for goodness sake!"  
  
"Aaay!" Everybody joyously cheedred with Fonzie chiming in right behind.  
  
Richie stood up, with his dad sitting down. "My dad's right! Why should we just pick up and go   
just because somebody else is challenging our peaceful town, violating everything precious to us,   
violating everything that we hold dear, traumatizing our children, rolling us in the dust, looting   
and plundering our treasures, attempting to destroy everything wonderful in our lives....I mean, after   
yesterday, even Arnold's still stands!"  
  
The crownd, and Fonzie, chanted once again.  
  
Nobody really knew for certain in the crowd why Arnold's was left untouched, and some people   
did believe that a higher power was involved. (Potsie, for certain, eventually did.) But for some   
odd reason, during the raid, Arnold's survived without a cut or a scratch.  
  
"I say we stand and withstand all of this callous brutality. I say we defend our town, our city,   
our families, you name it! I say we meet this challenge to our happiness!"  
  
The crownd cheered once more.  
  
Potsie (his nickname coming from his talent of making clay things as a child) stood up.   
  
"Richie's right! Why should we back down just because some jealous, cruel old lame-o is bullying us like   
there's no tomorrow? We ought to protect our everything we hold dear, not just hop off to let it   
be chewed up to death by a pack of wolves! I love Milwaukee too much just to leave it to the jaws of these cold-blooded,   
black-hearted, blow-up-at-the-slightest-touch jackals and their spitting-in-your-eye, vain, stuck up little armpieces!"  
  
The crowd cheered once more.  
  
"Well, then let this day be the day we begin learning how, friends. Today, we read from the book of holy..."  
  
Suddenly, from all sides of each window in the main chapel that *hadn't* been smashed, came dozens of pipe boms tied  
together.  
  
"...MOLY!"   
  
Everybody ducked. 


	5. Somewhere in Downtown Milwaukee

Ch 6 Somewhere in Downtown Milwaukee...  
  
Downtown Milwaukee, five days later...the people of the church meeting had barely survived the church meeting being bombed, for the most part, with bumps bruises, scratches and scars, and all did need to be patched up at the local hospital...with a few people in the usual plaster casts...and in the midst of the governor's office, there was talk.  
  
"Sherriff of Milwaukee murdered, church meeting bombed. Since theft of Harleys at local store, reign of terror over Milwaukee. Rape, bloodshed, death toll of children under 12 at alarming 50 %. 


End file.
